


Best Friends Forever

by NineTenElevenTwelve



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineTenElevenTwelve/pseuds/NineTenElevenTwelve
Summary: (Ten/Rose AU) John Noble is a concert pianist who enjoys the traveling his job entails. Until one day he happens to meet Rose Tyler and falls head over heels in love. But she has a boyfriend. So what's an abject coward to do? They become fast friends. The rest, as they say, is history.





	1. In the beginning

@)-->\----

He met her in some trendy nightclub one spring when he'd been in town to record an album. He was only there because he'd been getting antsy, staying in one place too long. Had gone out for a change of pace. He'd made the mistake asking Jack for a recommendation. It was the kind of place where the lights were red and the bathrooms incongruously bright. The sound system here was rigged all wrong, one of the speakers was blown and they'd turned the bass up too high to compensate. It wasn't working.

He was just leaving to find somewhere else, when he'd saw her being pestered by some very drunk, and completely obnoxious prat in a white t-shirt. Who the hell wears white t-shirts to go clubbing, anyway? T-shirt was obviously trying to pull her and she was firmly refusing. She was explaining she had boyfriend. He knew t-shirt's type, he was the kind who couldn't understand a girl just wasn't interested. He needed the physical presence of another man to believe it. He immediately swooped in, called her sweetheart and had briefly become her boyfriend. After that, all it took was a single hostile stare, and t-shirt had bumbled off in confusion. Not a win for feminism, but it got the job done.

She'd thanked him, and had begged to repay him with a coffee, so they headed out to an all night café he knew about.

“So, what's your boyfriend's name?” he asked amiably, eager to show he wasn't just another bloke trying to get a leg over.

“Mickey. I told him he couldn't come tonight. It was supposed to be a girl's night. But then Keisha and Shareen both picked up boys and that one cornered me before I could leave. Thanks again.”

“Please, don't mention it. I'm John Noble by the way.”

“Wait,” –she stopped under a street lamp and craned her head back to get a good look at his face– “The John Noble?”

He blinked down at her, stunned for a moment that she'd even heard of him. He wasn't that famous. But then he was even more stunned to realize he knew exactly who she was, too.

“You're Rose Tyler.”

“Yeah. Oh, this is crazy! I've been a fan of your piano playing for years! I did a bit of singing for a minute when I was avoiding uni, but I wasn't that good...”

“No! You were brilliant! I remember that album.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes! A producer friend of mine told me about it.  Said that at first he'd thought you'd gotten the deal because of your Dad. But when he'd heard it he changed his mind. I loved it, your voice is amazing.”

“Well thanks,” she said, blushing bright red, then she shook her head. “Don't think I could have made a go of it though. I hated performing and touring; it's what made me finally go to school.” –she tucked a  
strand of hair behind her ear– “I run Vitex charities now.”

“Well that's much more important!”

He was looking down at her, and she was smiling back, and for a moment he forgot about the boyfriend at home. He was definitely going to kiss her. A drop of water hit his face, and he realized they'd been standing there for several minutes and it had begun to rain. Grinning, he grabbed her hand and with a cry of “Run!” pulled her down the street and towards the café. They arrived gasping and laughing. It wasn't until he let go to open the door that he realized they'd been holding hands the whole way.

They found a table and spent hours talking. They'd been best friends ever since.

@)-->\----


	2. A Little Exposition

@)-->\----

 

The truth was, he'd been in love with her from the beginning.

 

He realized it when he first found himself writing music about her. It surprised him because he'd never written music about a woman. Now he found himself thinking of her when he composed. He started dreaming about her at night. He daydreamed about growing old with her. But she had Mickey, and he refused to be that kind of man. His friend, Jack, called him an idiot, but he rather liked Mickey. He was madly jealous, of course, but he stuffed it. Mickey gave him the side-eye the first time they met, but he relaxed quickly.

 

Rose had just moved back in to her parent's (frankly giant) mansion. Her mother had been surprised by a later-in-life pregnancy. Rose had decided to help out with the baby.

 

When John had left to go on tour a few weeks after meeting Rose, they talked nearly every night, often for hours. It became the highlight of his day. Perform, shower, change, talk to Rose.

 

When he was in town he stayed at the tiny bed-sit he'd let for years. Before, it was because he was hardly there long enough to need more space. Now, whenever he was in the city, he spent as much time as possible with Rose. Her parents had a exquisite concert grand, and Rose adored it when he would come over just to play. She would mind little Tony if her mum were busy, or otherwise just sit and keep him company.

 

None of this seemed to agitate Mickey. That said something about the state of their relationship. John just wasn't entirely sure if it was an indication of strength or weakness.

 

It went on like that for three years, during which no one else caught his interest. Spend time with Rose, call Rose. Think about Rose. He flirted, of course. Sometimes he even considered a girl or two, but no one kept his attention.

 

Jack pestered him about it: “It's not healthy, man! You need to get laid.” “I don't  _ need  _ anything. I'm fine.” “Just a one night stand, I'm worried you're getting TSB.” “TSB?” “Toxic Sperm Buildup.” “That's not an actual medical issue, Jack.” “Yes it is! It backs up to your brain-stem, makes you crazy.” “Shut up, Jack.”

 

So John stayed single. Until Reinette.

 

@)-->\----

 

Rose had invited him to some gala she was throwing to raise money for a new wing of the Children's Hospital. He'd brought along Martha Jones. She was a nice medical student that his sister, Donna, had insisted was perfect for him. He was rightfully skeptical. She was sweet, and smart as a whip (and gorgeous besides). But, in short order, it had become clear there was just no spark there. There never was a spark. Except with Rose. And Rose was off-limits.

 

He waltzed just once with Rose. She was gorgeous, as usual. The blue velvet of her gown made his mouth water. He found himself uncharacteristically silent during their dance. Relishing the feeling of her in his arms, wishing he didn't have to let her go. But then the song was over, and he had to let her mingle for the rest of the night.

 

Martha was too interested in him. He'd cast about for a way to shake her (and to tear his eyes off Rose). In the end, he'd flirted, too hard a beautiful French opera singer. Reinette. Her chief charm was that she reminded him, rather strikingly, of Rose. It hadn't kept him from watching Rose. But by the end of the night Martha seemed far less enamored.

 

A few weeks later he was in Paris for a set of shows and looked up Reinette. She'd made him promise that when he was in town again he'd buy her dinner. She was the sort of woman who got what she wanted, and apparently what she wanted was him.

 

That night she kissed him, and he saw stars. She invited him up to her flat. There was no pretense of coffee. The entire time they were in bed together, he kept thinking about Rose. In the morning he woke to a tousled blonde head and the wrong color eyes. They had a breakfast of espresso and croissants. She neatly informed him that she considered them an item. Whatever that was.

 

@)-->\----

 

That evening he rang Rose for their regular chat.

 

“Hey!” She said brightly. “How was your dinner with that opera singer, what's-her-name, Reindeer?”

 

“Reinette,” he corrected, privately finding the name funny. “She was, um. She's lovely. We're going out again next week.”

 

“Oh.” Rose's voice sounded distant, as if she had turned away from the phone to grab something. “That's great!”

 

“Yeah,” he said, unsure how to proceed. In truth, he felt awkward. He'd rather not discuss this with Rose. He wouldn't have wanted to discuss anything similar about her.

 

“Have you been to one of her performances?” Rose asked in a sunny tone of voice.

 

“Um, no,” he racked his brain to remember what Reinette was working on at the moment. “I think that their showing of the Marriage of Figaro opens after I leave Paris.” He thought he remembered that was the name of the Opera. He'd never been much of a fan of that particular piece, but Reinette had the voice to play Susanna.

 

“What did she think of your show?”

 

“She hasn't gone yet, I don't think.”

 

Rose snorted. She made a point of going to his shows. But if he were to compare anyone to Rose, they'd always come up lacking.

 

“What did you guys talk about over dinner? Must have been interesting if you needed to make another date with her.”

 

“Oh, lots!” Reinette had been an interesting conversationalist, actually. “She's quite informed about international politics and world history.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mmm. We spent quite a while talking about the history of Spain, after I told her that's where I'd be next.”

 

“Mickey and I split up last week,” she blurted, out of nowhere.

 

“What?” he said, astonished. “Are you OK?” Come to think of it, she and Mickey had not seemed close. He hadn't even been at the latest gala, or for that matter, at any recent functions that John could remember. But breakups were never good, and she and Mickey had been together for a long time.

 

“I'm fine!” she reassured him. “It wasn't a big deal. We just sort of drifted apart.”

 

“So, you're not upset?” he double checked. It would be just like Rose to act stoic.

 

“Nah, we agreed we'd always been better mates, anyway. I think he had some idea we'd get married eventually, but I didn't like the idea of stringing him along.”

 

“So you broke it off with him?” This was actually rather unexpected. He couldn't help wondering if he had missed something.

 

“Yeah. But it wasn't a big deal. Anyway, tell me more about the shows you're doing in Spain.”

 

So he launched into a recitation of the places he'd be playing in Madrid, Barcelona, and Savilla. He made a mental note to ask her again about Mickey. If she still seemed fine in a few days, he'd not worry about it.

 

“After that I'm having one night in Lisbon, but then I have a couple of days before I need to fly to Italy. So I get to wander around. Portugal is quite picturesque, Rose. You'd love the Mostierio dos Jerónimos, it's full of all these statues! It's almost 400 years old, but the limestone is still perfectly white.”

 

She hummed, “Sounds nice. Maybe I'll go one day.”

 

“I'd love to take you,” he said eagerly.

 

“Sure,” she said.

 

“There are lots of places I'd love to take you, Rose Tyler,” he told her. He imagined the two of them, hand in hand, visiting the sights of the world.

 

@)-->\----

 

A month later, Mickey started dating Martha. It should have surprised him, but for some reason it didn't.

 

Rose briefly dated some wanker named Adam. John hadn't much liked him, but it seemed over almost before it began. Rose told John that Adam had been a “gold digger” and left it at that.

 

He and Reinette lasted seven months, and he hated every minute of it. It likely would have been shorter, but they were both constantly on tour. They didn't see enough of each other for Reinette to notice his aloofness. He still talked to Rose every night.

 

Reinette visited him in town, exactly once. She had stayed in the poshest hotel she could find. Rose graciously invited the two of them out for dinner, and was her usual charming self all evening. After, Reinette tried to haul him off for the night, but he was loathe to waste any potential time with Rose. He went back with her to her parents', ostensibly to practice piano. When Reinette left town the following day, they parted on distinctly frosty terms.

 

In the end Reinette left him for a French business mogul. A man the press had nicknamed “Louis the 20th,” because he was as rich as, and lived as opulently as, a king. Rose was loyally offended on his behalf, but John had been relieved, more than anything.

 

@)-->\----

 

Rose's little brother Tony was now four and had begun nursery school. Because of this, Rose's mother hadn't needed her as often, so Rose had gotten her own place.

 

Rose took an airy, open flat on the top floor of a Victorian-era brick monstrosity that had been renovated within an inch of itself. It boasted a view of the city and a closet large enough for all Rose's shoes. This last was a pronouncement he made when he saw it for the first time.

 

“Shut up you! Not everyone wears just chucks all the time. Some of us need different shoes for different occasions.”

 

“Rose” he said as earnestly as he could. “I've meant to talk to you about this. You have a shoe problem. You have almost as many shoes as you have outfits.” Then he'd laughed when she'd started hitting him.

 

“Some of us wear more than just one outfit!”

 

“Pinstripes are classic, Rose! Hey! Quit hitting me! OK, OK, I'm sorry, you have just the right number of shoes!”

 

@)-->\----

 


	3. The Plot Thickens

@)-->\----

 

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about their shared single status. He had. At length. In fact he thought about it all the time. At some point she'd meet someone. Someone who would want her time and attention. And then where would he be? But she didn't show any interest in anything more from him. And he was afraid of ruining their friendship. So he kept quiet.

 

@)-->\----

 

One night Rose had a small group over for dinner. Mickey and Martha came, and John brought Jack. Even though Jack, knowing about John's feelings for Rose, tended to flirt with her just to annoy John. Rose had also invited her oldest friends, Shareen and Keisha.

 

The seven of them had dinner, a spaghetti carbonara that Rose had catered. (Rose's cooking was deplorable). Then they had all settled into the living room for a drunken game of Monopoly. They didn't bother with the rules. Soon the game devolved into a pandemonium of laughter and blatant cheating. At some point, someone (Jack) had suggested a game of Truth or Dare. It had ended somehow, with Rose wearing John's oxford and tie in place of her dress, which made John mad with lust.

 

Sometime after midnight, everyone wandered home. Jack had possibly taken home Keisha, or Shareen, or even both, but John didn't want to know the details. This left him in his vest and trousers and Rose in his shirt. Alone and plastered.

 

“OK,” said a laughing Rose. “Truth or Dare?”

 

“You can't be serious!” They were both almost asleep. He was considering dropping off on her couch on purpose: hoping she'd cover him up with a throw and let him pamper her the next day.

 

“Oh come on, John! Please?”

 

He couldn't say no to her. Had never been able to.

 

“Fine. Truth.”

 

“What was sex like with Reinette?” Bloody hell, she had _not_ just asked that, had she?

 

“What?” he sputtered.

 

With patience, she repeated herself. “What was sex like with Reinette?”

 

“I am not answering that!”

 

“You have to!” she singsonged. “It's the rules!”

 

“OK then, Dare.”

 

“No! You can't change! Come on, was it really that bad?”

 

“What? No! Ugh...” The truth was that in half-light, he could pretend Reinette was Rose. He'd felt so ashamed of himself at the time. He couldn't tell her that. “It was... It was sex, OK?”

 

“That's not an answer.”

 

“Yes it is. It wasn't great, it wasn't terrible,” he hedged.

 

“God, no wonder you broke up. Sex should be amazing, it's part of the glue of relationships.”

 

He was sure that sex with Rose would be amazing. Guh! He couldn't say that!

 

“Guess that means sex with Mickey was pretty great. You two stayed together for a long time.” What?

Why the hell had he brought that up? He didn't want the answer to that.

 

“Sorta. I mean, yeah it was alright, but we hadn't, you know? Not for a long time. I think we were just together out of habit the last few years.”

 

“Oh, that makes sense.” That was a relief. He didn't have to hear the details.

 

“OK, Truth or Dare,” she said.

 

“What? No, it's your turn.”

 

“I just went! You did Truth, then you asked me a Truth, so it's your turn again.”

 

He was fairly sure that wasn't how it worked, but he was drunk, and she was very pretty.

 

“OK, Dare.” Best avoid another sex related question.

 

“Ooooo! OK, I want you to recite a poem in a Scottish accent.”

 

“Really?” She'd once confessed she thought Scottish accents were sexy.

 

“I'm not mean! I'm not gonna make you dance or whatever.”

 

So, he recited as much of “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” as he could remember, which wasn't very much, but it was the only poem he could think of. And anyway, it had Rose on the floor in stitches with laughter, so it was worth it.

 

Next she chose Dare, so he made her sing. He'd heard her sing extemporaneously before, of course, but it was his favorite sound. She lilted her way through some pop song. While, as a musician, there was a great deal to fault her performance for, he didn't care. He merely clapped heartily when she was done.

 

He had forgotten about being asked about Reinette and sex, so he volunteered for Truth, again.

 

“What's the strangest place you've ever had a wee?”

 

He sputtered with laughter.

 

“I've saved that question all night,” she confided. Well that settled it.

 

“I played a concert, exactly one night, in Boston... oh, ages ago. I can't remember. Anyway, a group of locals took a shine to me and decided to take me drinking. Trouble with the older parts of Boston, not very many loos. I wandered around for about an hour looking for one. In the end I took a leak in a fountain.”

 

“No!”

 

“Yes! It was pitch black, though.”

 

“God, that's hilarious. I kinda hoped it'd be off the Eiffel Tower or something.”

 

“Nah. Pee off that thing, you'd get it everywhere.” She laughed uproariously. He loved it when she was pissed, he was never funnier. “Alright, Truth or Dare.”

 

“Oh! Truth,” she chose.

 

Difficulty was, he already knew so much about her. Her childhood bear Mr. Tedopoulos, who still lived in her room. Her strangest irrational fear: shop mannequins coming to life. Her favorite flower: daisies ( _not_ roses). She colored her hair because she thought her natural brown made her look washed out. Her first kiss had been behind the school storage shed when she was twelve. Her first time had been with Jimmy Stone, who'd turned out to be a complete wanker.

 

He flopped down on the floor next to her.

 

“I can't think of anything,” he confessed.

 

And then she kissed him. Just like that, his whole world tilted. It was as if, until this moment, he had only seen black and white. Now everything was flooded with brilliant color. He groaned, and their tongues intertwined. She tasted like vodka and dreams. He was filling with joy and want. He could feel her heart beat, could almost hear her thoughts. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. He wanted to never stop kissing her, never stop touching her. He felt like they were floating an inch above the ground.

 

Then she broke away from him as suddenly as she had started. Everything was empty and blank once more. He went to reach for her, to kiss her again, to bring back that vibrancy, but she pushed away and sat up.

 

“Oh God, oh God. John, I'm so sorry!” Sorry? What? That had been the most brilliant snog in his life. No, that had been the most brilliant snog in the history of snogs. Why would she be sorry?

 

“Rose...” he started, not knowing what to say.

 

“I know! I know! It was dumb. I didn't think. I'm so sorry.”

 

“No, um, it's OK.” He was floundering. What was happening?

 

“That was such a stupid mistake, you're my best friend!” She was crying now. John wasn't sure if he was more drunk from the liquor or from the kiss, but Rose crying was guaranteed to sober him up. Clearly she regretted kissing him. No time to dwell on that pain. Time to make Rose stop crying.

 

“OK,” he said, getting up off the floor and helping her to stand. She clung to him, sobbing. “Shh, it's OK, everything's fine.” She cried some more and he settled onto the couch with her in his lap. He murmured sweet nothings and pet her hair, trying not to think about how warm and _right_ she felt. Slowly she calmed.

 

“Oh John,” she sniffed. “I got makeup all over you.” He looked down to see mascara stains and shrugged.

 

“Adds a little color.” She giggled, his second favorite sound. “Let's get you to bed, then.”

 

“Yeah, alright.” She stood, a bit unsteadily and blinked owlishly in the direction of her bedroom. He sighed and picked her up, bridal style and carried her into her room. It was a token of how far gone she was that she only squeaked once, and didn't object.

 

He set her on her feet next to the bed, and then turned down the sheets for her. She started to get in, but he stopped her, untying his tie from around her neck. She thanked him weakly, and laid down.

 

He started to leave, intending to sleep on her couch. He knew she wouldn't be good for much in the morning. But she reached for him.

 

“John, wait.” He stopped and looked at her, ready to reassure her how ever she needed to be reassured. “Stay.”

 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and pointed to the door. “Was gonna kip on the couch, don't think I'd make it home anyway.”

 

“No, I mean, here.” She patted the other side of the bed. He knew it to be a terrible idea. She was soft and vulnerable looking, and holding her while they slept was one of his favorite dreams. But he found himself climbing under the covers.

 

@)-->\----

 

He woke with a pounding headache to discover her nestled on his chest. Great, not exactly how he imagined waking up the morning after getting of with Rose Tyler the first time. Blimey that had been the most amazing kiss. Oops, better not think about that. Not with Rose all but snuggling him, and the remnants of morning wood. He laid, frozen with indecision. Should he try to crawl out of bed and risk waking her? Or lie here and enjoy it as long as possible, and then pretend to be asleep when she inevitably woke up? God, she fit perfectly against him, as if they were built to lie in one another's arms. His decision was made for him when Rose moaned, then stretched beside him. She lifted her head and blinked up at him. Too late to pretend to be asleep.

 

“Morning, she croaked. Her makeup was smudged, her hair was tangled. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and red from the drinking and crying. He'd never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. In a split second her vision seemed to focus and he watched the memories of last night surface. She pulled away from him and sighed.

 

“Are we OK?” she asked with clear trepidation.

 

“Of course,” he answered, instantaneously. _He_ might not be alright ever again, but that wasn't Rose's fault.

 

“The last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship.”

 

“Oh, Rose! Me too!” She was the most important thing in his life.

 

She smiled at that, as if he'd said exactly what she wanted to hear.

 

“Come on,” he said, trying to shake the sudden sorrow he felt. “I'll make you breakfast. I don't know about you but I've got a killer hangover.”

 

He walked to her kitchen, stepping painfully on a monopoly hotel hidden in the carpet. A few minutes later she joined him, dressed in jimjams. She placed his oxford and tie, neatly folded, on the table beside his plate. She tucked in to her scrambled eggs and for a few minutes they ate in silence.

 

Then, all at once she blurted, “The thing is John, somewhere out there is your perfect woman.”

 

He was startled by this, he was already so hurt inside he didn't expect the sting of that cut.

 

“What about you?” he asked, without thinking.

 

She looked uncomfortable. “Maybe,” she said.

 

@)-->\----

 


	4. Interlude

@)-->\----

 

John was insufferable over the next weeks. But, he managed to make himself talk to Rose every night. If they were both a bit quieter than usual, neither mentioned it. To everyone else he was terse, often snapping. He growled at Donna when she called to invite him to dinner.

 

“Don't yell at me, Space Man!” she had shouted back. That cowed him immediately, but he still weaseled his way out of coming over. He wasn't sure he could stomach the sight of someone else's domestic bliss. He loved Lee and the kids, but he was feeling bitter, and angry at fate. It was perverse of the universe to give him his soul mate in this way. It dangled her before him, but refused him the right to be with her.

 

If that late-night “mistake” of a kiss had taught him anything, it was that no one would ever be better for him than Rose. And now that he knew what it was like to kiss her, taste her, he yearned for more.

 

@)-->\----

 

It was Jack who finally sat him down in a filthy pub snug and demanded to know what was wrong.

 

“Jesus, man! You've been a total ass since last Saturday. Did you and Rose have a fight after I left? I thought for sure you guys were going to finally get it on.”

 

John winced, and then bristled at the crudeness. Jack caught the wince, however.

 

“Oh my God! You did make a move, didn't you? Finally! But seriously, she didn't turn you down.” – John didn't answer this, which was apparently enough for Jack – “No way! She's as in love with you as you are with her!”

 

“No, Jack. She really isn't.”

 

“I don't know why you keep telling yourself that. She was looking at you like she wanted to eat you. Plus Keisha told me that she's been in love with you for ages. That she broke up with Mickey to be with you, but then Reinette got in the way.”

 

John nearly spat his cider at that. “What?!”

 

“Yeah, man. She thinks your skinny ass is hot, for some reason.” Jack looked him up and down, then wiggled his eyebrows. Normally this would have John making a joke about Jack barking up the wrong tree. But John was distracted by the idea that Keisha thought Rose wanted him. He shook his head. That couldn't be right. Something was missing.

 

“Jack, no. Look, what happened Saturday...” he trailed off but Jack just looked at him patiently. “She kissed me.” –Jack gave a little woop at this, so John hurried to finish– “Then she stopped and said it was a mistake and started crying. I think she was just pissed.”

 

“What?! She said it was a mistake?”

 

“Yeah. She said she didn't want to ruin our friendship. And then she said my 'perfect' woman was out there, somewhere.” Recounting it only made him more depressed. Actually this drinking thing seemed like a great idea. He gulped what was left in his glass and then got up to get himself another.

 

When he got back, Jack was looking pensive.

 

“John, that doesn't make any sense.”

 

“Sure it does. She want's me to know she doesn't want to be with me.”

 

“You're sure she said your perfect woman was someone _else_?”

 

John sighed heavily. “Yes. She said 'John, somewhere out there is your perfect woman.'”

 

“Huh. But first she said she was worried about you guy's friendship?”

 

“It was her first thought, right after; that's what she was crying about. And it was the first thing she said in the morning. We haven't talked about it since.”

 

“Jesus. This is complicated, man.”

 

“Doesn't seem complicated to me. She was drunk, she snogged me, but she doesn't want to be more than friends.”

 

“No! Erg. Look, I'm positive she's in love with you,” –each time Jack said that, John's heart did a little flutter before crashing into his stomach– “Shareen and Keisha both said that she told them she was going to break up with Mickey because of it.”

 

Maybe. But.. “That was a year ago, Jack. We've both dated since then. She probably just changed her mind.”

 

“I doubt it. I mean, you remember Reinette?” –John just raised his eyebrows at this– “She was always flawless, always dressed up. She came from old money. She's an opera singer. Rose lived on an Estate with her parents until she was sixteen and her Dad made it with Vitex. She was a one-hit-wonder pop-star She likes to wear jeans and trainers.”

 

“What? So?” Rose had a voice like an angel. And she would look good in a bin bag.

 

“It's no wonder you're always single. You really don't understand women. Reinette made Rose feel cheap, like she wasn't good enough. She must think that's why you started dating Reinette right when she was breaking up with Mickey.”

 

“If I'd had even the slightest inkling that Rose was interested in me, I never would have started anything with Reinette! She didn't even tell me she'd split with Mickey until after I got together with Reinette!”

 

“Yeah, I think that was just bad timing and poor communication. But you have to see it from Rose's perspective.”

 

He thought about that for a moment. He hadn't said anything much about Reinette until after they'd already slept together. In his defense he'd not seen Reinette coming. But that was the same conversation in which Rose had mentioned breaking up with Mickey. God, what if Jack was right? Reinette had a tendency to look immaculately polished the moment she woke up. She even sneezed elegantly. John always hated it. He liked it when Rose looked rumpled. He thought it was adorable.

 

“What do I do?” he asked, despondent. If all this was true, he'd bollocksed it up royally.

 

“I suggest you start by kissing her, then just let things progress naturally from there. Wait, you know how sex works, don't you?”

 

“God damn it, Jack! That's not what I meant.”

 

“Just tell her how you _feel_ , man.”

 

But just coming right out and addressing the topic was not John's style. As always, he was a consummate coward. He was leaving in three days for a short tour in Germany. Maybe they'd talk about it when he got back.

 

@)-->\----

 

There was one thing to be said for being miserable in love, however. He'd never got so much writing done. The music seemed to pour out of him in ways that almost frightened him. Some of his most popular pieces were the one's he'd written right after he'd met Rose. They were fun, fast melodies in a minor key. They invoked the joy of falling for someone fantastic, but tinged that emotion with the pain of never having her. What he wrote now was sad, angry, tired, blissful. They were odes to the most glorious kiss in history, and the most beautiful woman of all time. After his talk with Jack, the music began to change, it took on a soaring quality.

 

A week before his tour was up, and his third night in Hamburg, his producer, Sarah Jane, telephoned him.

 

“Hey John. After you're done with the Germany shows, I think you should consider coming back to the studio. This new material... it's amazing, John.”

 

He was lying on his back in his hotel room staring at a cheap watercolor print.

 

“Why do you think every hotel buys the exact same art?”

 

“What? John, are you even listening to me?”

 

“Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute. None of it was ready to record. But if he took a few months to really refine them, he'd be in town – with Rose – for a good long time. “No, that's a great idea.”

 

“Really? I thought I'd have to argue you into it. You always get fidgety recording, because you hate staying still that long.”

 

Actually, in the years he'd known Rose, he'd spent more time in the city than out of it. Donna had been thrilled to see him so often. He'd even begun to think of it as home, which was new. Sarah Jane was right, though. Normally he chafed to be out traveling. It was one of the perks of his career. But his favorite part of every day was still talking to Rose.

 

“The compositions aren't ready though. It may take me a while to really get them smooth.”

 

“You're serious about this? I hope you're serious. This next album will be, by far, your best yet.”

 

“I'm totally serious, Sarah Jane. I'll call you after I get back to town.”

 

He hung up, and then, without even putting down his phone, dialed Rose.

 

“Hey you!” she said happily. “Oh my God, what time is it there? It must be really late. I thought maybe you weren't phoning tonight.”

 

“Yep. Sorry I didn't ring earlier, Sarah Jane needed to talk about my next album.”

 

“I didn't know you were putting out a new album.”

 

He laughed, “Neither did I, until Sarah Jane told me. It looks like I'll be in town for several months, maybe. Starting next week.”

 

“Oh John, that's brilliant! Won't you get bored though?”

 

“Nah, I'll be working. Besides, I'm never bored when you're around.” She made a sweet, happy sound, and abruptly he got brave. “Can I make you dinner when I get back? Just the two of us? I'd like to talk.”

 

“Of course!” she said. And then, all of a sudden, John had a date to plan.

 

No, not a date. A seduction.

 

@)-->\----

 


	5. Grand Finale

@)-->\----

 

Ten days later, John showed up at Rose's door with two steaks, a bag of potatoes, and a bottle of wine. Rose had talked him into letting her make the salad. He had gone to the butcher and gotten aged filet mignon and then marinated it overnight. He'd bought the best wine he could find. The potatoes were from the organic section of a fancy greengrocer's. He worried that steak and potatoes were too simple, but it was Rose's favorite meal. She ordered it when he took her out for dinner on her birthdays. Plus, he was good at it. He'd chosen a Friday, hoping that because she didn't have to work the next day, he'd not feel rushed. He'd planned as carefully as he could

 

He let himself in with his key, as usual, calling out to her as he set down the wine and took the food to the kitchen. She responded from what sounded like the ensuite of her bedroom but he couldn't quite catch what she said. He assumed she meant she'd be out in a minute. He set about chopping the potatoes and finding what he needed in Rose's barely used kitchen.

 

“Hey!” she said cheerily from the doorway. “I just got home and changed –Oh my God! Are you making me steak and potatoes?!”

 

John glance up at the sound of her voice and promptly lost connection with his brain. She was wearing a pair of tight fitting jeans and a black top, without a bra. Her hair was down around her shoulders in waves. She must have just washed her face, because her skin was glowing. She literally took his breath away.

 

She laughed uneasily when he didn't say anything. Or move. “Earth to John? You alright?”

 

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Uh, yeah.” He then scrambled for something to say to cover the awkwardness. “Yes! I'm making you steak and potatoes! Do you know that there was a nineteenth century Irishman who lived to be one hundred and four? He claimed it was because he ate steak and potatoes every day, drank nothing but stout and started smoking a pipe at eleven.”

 

This had the desired effect of distracting her completely. She immediately challenged the veracity of the claim. She went on to suggest that had the (she insisted) apocryphal Irishman not indulged in such vices, he'd have lived even longer. In response he told her about research that suggested (and this time he swore it was true) that the greatest determiner of longevity was an optimistic attitude and a compassionate outlook.

 

“So, obviously, Rose Tyler, you'll live forever!”

 

By now the potatoes were happily roasting away in the oven and Rose had poured them each a glass of wine. He found the dutch courage helped immensely, but made a mental note to be careful with his intake. He didn't want to end up drunkenly confessing his undying love. That would just be tacky.

 

Soon the steaks were done and everything was on plates. They settled down at the table. A moment later Rose was making almost erotic sounds of appreciation. He was quite chuffed about choosing the meal. He couldn't help wondering if he could make her make those sounds some other way. Down boy.

 

Once Rose slowed down, they began chatting again.

 

“So, you're going to record a new album? I thought you said you hadn't been writing much, lately.”

 

“I hadn't been, but recently I've written quite a bit. I think I've just been... inspired. I sent a few samples to Sarah Jane and I guess she liked them, because she called to ask me to come back and concentrate on getting them ready to record.”

 

“I can't wait to hear it.”

 

“I'll play some for you later, if you like.” Rose had a lovely baby grand, and while she certainly played, she'd gotten it explicitly for John's use. She said she enjoyed listening to him play, and that she needed a piano to keep him coming by as often as possible. As if he needed an excuse.

 

He tugged his ear, thinking about how all of it was about her. “It's a bit different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“It's hard to explain. These new songs are, I don't know, deeper, I guess. It's sort of... Oh, I know what it's like! It's as if I have a brand new muse and she... no, that's not it. She's the same muse, I just think I finally see her.”

 

Something unreadable crossed Rose face, but she quickly smiled. “Is this a metaphoric muse, or are we talking about a proper person?”

 

This was getting a bit real, wasn't it? He quickly gulped his wine to cover his moment of anxiety. No, it was time to start. No more hiding.

 

“Oh, she's a very real person. Maybe the realest person I've ever met.”

 

Rose's eyes widened. “Did you just meet this person? Is there someone new in your life I should know about?”

 

Huh, maybe not a broad enough hint.

 

“No, I've known her for a long time. In some ways I feel like I've known her my whole life.”

 

Rose's eyes narrowed a bit, but her smile remained fixed. “Are we talking about Reinette?”

 

John was surprised into an unstudied reaction. “God no!” he quickly recovered, but didn't miss the amused look Rose gave him. “No, Reinette is definitely... has never been any thing like a muse to me.”

 

“Really?” Rose asked, seeming surprised. She stood and began clearing their plates. He jumped up to help. “She always seemed, I don't know, ideal. Certainly the sort of person that gets odes written about them.”

 

“Nah, too flawless. Plastic, even.”

 

Rose's eyebrows shot up. “Plastic? I always wondered if her tits were fake.”

 

This was not going in a direction he liked. He didn't want to talk about Reinette's breasts, especially when he could hardly stop thinking about Rose's.

 

“Just leave the plates in the sink,” he suggested, “we'll get them later.” And guided her out to the living room. He sat at one end of the couch and Rose curled up on the other, facing him, cradling her wine glass.

 

“So, it's not Reinette. Tell me about this muse.”

 

Her face was perfectly composed, and John was beginning to doubt himself again. She was really pushing this idea of another woman. Maybe she didn't have any interest in him. But then he remembered himself. She'd fancied him once, and he'd no idea then. She really was his muse. There would never be anyone else. He had to at least try.

 

He took a deep breath. “She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She's funny, she's fearless. She's compassionate. She's brilliant.” Rose's cheeks had taken on a light blush. John wondered if she was catching on. “I met her, and I think I instantly... Yes... I instantly fell in love with her. I looked at her and I thought, 'This is it, this is what it means to meet your soul mate.'”

 

“Wow,” Rose whispered.

 

“Ever since,” he soldiered on, “Every song I've written has been about her. I even hear her voice singing when I'm playing, sometimes.”

 

“Why haven't you ever said anything... to her, I mean?”

 

“She was involved with someone else, and well, I guess I was afraid”

 

“You should tell her, John.”

 

He huffed a frustrated laugh, and looked her straight in the eyes. “I'm trying to.”

 

Shock froze her features. She stuttered, “You're... you're talking about me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“ _You... You're in love with me_?”

 

“Yes.” This was killing him. She wasn't moving, didn't seem receptive to the idea.

 

He gripped the back of his neck and stood. “But, uh, that's fine. Um, you know. You don't have to do anything different. I just thought... but I... I was wrong. And that's fine! Totally fine!”

 

“John.” She was standing in front of him. How had she gotten there? Oh, he'd been pacing, and she'd moved to still his restless movements.

 

He felt like a single, raw nerve. She seemed to be watching him carefully, eyes a cipher. She bit her lip and looked away. Then she took his hand and drew him back to the couch so that they sat again, this time side by side.

 

She sighed, and instantly he knew that there was a problem. “John, is this because I kissed you two months ago?”

 

“No,” he said automatically, then reconsidered. “Well, yes. Sort of. I wasn't lying earlier. When we met, I thought to myself: 'Here she is. This is what it's like to meet your soul mate.' But you were dating Mickey.”

 

“But you never said.”

 

“No. I was scared.” He took a deep breath. “Rose, you're the most important person in the world to me. All I really want is for you to be happy. No matter what that means for me. But then, you kissed me, and it's like it broke something. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I mean, I think about you all the time, but now I felt like I was being tortured.”

 

“I'm sorry about all the mixed signals,” she said sadly.

 

“It's alright,” he replied. She didn't want him. Had never wanted him.

 

“No, it's not. I kissed you. You had every right to think that meant...” she trailed off. There was a long, awkward pause. “I'm just having trouble understanding,” she finally finished.

 

“Understanding what?” he asked. He supposed he should be trying to keep his voice modulated, but he was beyond disappointed. He'd been prepared for the possibility of rejection, but being interrogated was taking things a bit far. He sighed and settled into the couch. Might as well get comfortable. He couldn't deny Rose anything. It was true: all that mattered to him was her happiness. If an explanation was what she wanted, he'd explain until he was hoarse.

 

“You said that when you met me, you thought I was your soul mate.”

 

“Yeah.” That had been bittersweet, emphasis on the sweet.

 

“But last year, when I split with Mickey, you immediately started dating Reinette. So what changed? Why now? I'm... I'm not sure I believe you.”

 

“Well that's insulting,” he said, stung. Why would he lie about how long he'd been in love with her?

 

“John, we've known each other for years. We talk every day. You've had dozens of chances, hundreds, to say something. Then, one night, I kiss you. You swore the next day that you just wanted to be friends, but now you want more. You've got to admit it's a bit hard to follow.”

 

She was right, of course. Jack had said the same thing. The optics were bad.

 

He shook his head. “Rose, when I met you, you were dating Mickey, and living with your mum and dad. Yes, I wanted to be with you, but what kind of wanker would I have been to become your mate just so I could elbow in? Then... the thing with Reinette. In some ways Reinette was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I had no idea you were going to end it with Mickey. You didn't even tell me about it until after Reinette told me to consider myself her bloke.” –Rose snorted and muttered “she said that?”– “If I had thought there was even a chance you were interested in me, I would have just dropped everything and run home. But you were so relaxed about everything. I was worried I ought to be consoling you, but you seemed fine.”

 

“So you had no idea? John, I was breaking it off with Mickey because I thought...” She took a deep breath. “Do you remember the night at that Vitex gala when you danced with me? The one you brought Martha to?”

 

Did he remember? She had been so stunning, had felt so right in his arms. They had moved together and he had understood then how the waltz had been considered scandalous when it first came out. It was so intimate. He had spent the whole time staring into her eyes. He'd had to use every shred of his tattered self control to keep himself from kissing her.

 

“Oh yes,” he said.

 

“Every time I looked for you that night you were watching me.” He had been. He'd been conscious of it the whole time. Usually he could focus elsewhere to at least keep up appearances. But that night he'd been drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

 

“You were particularly beautiful that night,” he intoned, reverent.

 

She blushed, but continued, “You were leaving for two months and I thought it was the perfect time to cut things off with Mickey. That way, by the time you got back it'd have been a while. You know... long enough.”

 

John felt like an utter cock. They'd lost so much time. He leaned forward, earnestly, achingly sorry.

 

“Rose, if I'd any idea... I would have jumped at the chance.” He felt broken inside. He should have never let Reinette near him. He'd botched his one chance at being with Rose.

 

“Really?” she asked, quiet.

 

“Yes,” he answered on a sigh.

 

She sniffed. Oh no. Was she starting to cry? Rose's tears were still his kryptonite. What had he done wrong now? But then, she was crawling into his lap, twining her arms around his neck.

 

“I love you,” she whispered. And then she was kissing him.

 

John's mind lit with fire, and all he could do was slide his hands into her hair and hold on. The elated feeling of floating was back. The world behind his eyes became a technicolor of fireworks. He could taste the wine they'd been drinking earlier, and something else, something Rose. It shouldn't have been familiar, since it was only their second real kiss. But it felt as if this is what he'd been missing his entire life. He let one hand slip down her back, drawing her closer. He wanted her as close as possible, wanted to merge her into his own skin.

 

She finally pulled back, leaving them both breathing hard.

 

“Blimey,” she murmured.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That was even more amazing than I remembered.”

 

“Yeah.” He'd never been less coherent. But since she hadn't started crying again, it seemed safe to stay intoxicated by having her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her again, but for the moment, he contented himself by kissing along her jaw, the smell of her filling his nose. She leaned her head back a little, giving him more room. When his mouth found a sensitive place over a pulse point, she groaned a sound that when straight to his groin. Then he was hit by a sudden realization. She loved him.

 

“Rose,” he started, and heard the husk in his own voice.

 

“Yes,” she said back, in a tone that almost made him forget his question.

 

“Did you just say you love me?”

 

“Yes,” she moaned again, tilting her head again, in invitation for more. He took it, and began working his way down her neck.

 

“Say it again,” he whispered.

 

She made a new noise, one that made him want to see what other sounds he could get her to make. She straightened her head and looked him in the eye, scant distance between them.

 

“John,” she said, her voice the most sultry thing he'd ever heard. “I love you”

 

And then she kissed him again.

 

@)-->\----

 


End file.
